Dancer in the Dark
by IKilledMisa
Summary: The tale of a Dark Elf assassin and his travels as he tries to gain infamy and favour within Naggaroth and beyond.
1. Lokirath

The dark winding streets of Karond Kar reminded all why this was the known as the 'Tower of Despair' the souls of dead slaves wondered the streets wailing in the agony of their tortured existence. Shadows moved behind iron webbed windows and the sound of a whore plying her trade was occasionally broken by the crack of a slavers whip and screams of agony. The stench of decay and filth from the slave markets lingered in the air as a slender shadowy figure ran through the dark streets. His clothes were a strange mix of hand-downs and cast-outs only his black boots with deep purple trim and his daggers were of fine make his slender legs danced from side to side as he ran skimming the streams of blood that ran in the cracks of the cobblestones he was quick, nimble and extremely agile and very lithe even for an Elf. He finally reached his destination, the weapons and armour smith – Blades of Woe – the shadowy figure opened the door and stepped into the shop. He removed the hood of his cloak and his beautiful, fair face was lit up by the light of the oil lamp. He had large almond-shaped, piercing eyes that were a deep beautiful violet, the same shade as an Iris and his ghostly white skin without a single blemish, his obsidian black hair was in a feathered razor-cut, the length up to his jaw-line with a choppy fringe that accentuated his eyes and his highly arched eyebrows. The woman behind the counter was testing the balance of a sword her aqua eyes darted at the sound of the store bell. She was a powerful looking Druchii with wavy blonde hair tied back in a ponytail she looked at the young man and smiled. "Lokirath" she said in a gravelly voice. "Ravenna is out on deliveries at the moment"

"I'm not here to see Ravenna" the beautiful Druchii replied. "I'm here to speak to Nelaros" he said. The woman nodded understandingly and turned to a male human slave who was scrubbing what looked like blood off the floor.

"Chatter! Go get my husband" she barked. The skittish human jumped up and nodded before darting towards the back of the huge store where the forge was. Chatter was one of many slaves Nelaros Witchsmith owned, Chatter was named ironically for he couldn't speak at all, his tongue had been cut out by Nelaros to make a point to the other slaves not to answer back. The Witchsmith family were a powerful one in Naggaroth, they were descended from Hotek, the priest of Vaul who had forged Malekith's Armour of Midnight since then they were the first place to go for commissions and the finest armours and weapons around. Lokirath leant back against the wall waiting for Nelaros.

"So how's business, Morria?" he asked. The woman at the counter put the sword on a stand and smiled.

"Same old, same old we had some common militia cretin come in and tried to get some armour one of my sons made cheap, he said it was shoddy work and wasn't worth the price, you can imagine what happened to him." She said nodding at the stain on the floor. "Oh and a young noble ordered a new blade, wanted it enchanted too, no doubt trying to raise the family standing" she said. Lokirath looked up in interest at this news. "You think you're ready for that kind of a job?" she asked seeing his face light up

"The nobles of Naggaroth like to gut each other for sport, I'm just their knives" Lokirath smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Morria laughed but it was true that the Druchii were a Machiavellian society with the Witch-King at the top and the nobles and powerful underlings all competing with each other, all vying for power and doing all they could to destroy their opponent's chances of getting it. The Highborn society was rife with intrigue, conspiracy and political strife.

Lokirath had been trying to get a foothold in this arena for years, he was by trade an assassin, hustler and thief and that was the perfect playground for him, unlike most Druchii Lokirath was a trickster and an opportunistic scoundrel he only cared for his amusement and profit and Druchii politics was just another game to him. Also unlike most Druchii he was uncorrupted by the Cult of Pleasure. Lokirath was a Druchii or at least half Druchii and raised as a Druchii but the story of how he came to be marked him with a stigma that made him considered less than a slave.

Lokirath's father was a Corsair Commander called Malgrim Slaveflayer; he served on the Tower of Blessed Dread the right-hand man to Lokhir Fellheart himself. Apparently Lokirath was conceived after a slave raid on one of Malekith's attempts to take back Ulthuan, his father repeatedly raped an Asur woman to be sold on the slave market. When the woman ceased to bleed and was found to be with child the only reason she wasn't thrown overboard to sate the Sea Dragon's appetite was because of the price on her head. Lokirath was born in the slave pens of the ship, he should've been sacrificed to Mathlann, Lord of the Deeps but for some reason Lokhir Fellheart had spared him that fate, it was because of this action that rumours circulated that Fellheart was_ really_ Lokirath's Father and Malgrim only took credit out of loyalty to his friend and Captain, to avoid staining the Fellheart name with an Asur-Druchii bastard.

Lokirath fell into memory of his early life on the Black Ark. As soon as he could walk Malgrim set him to work cleaning the decks, clearing the filth from the slave pens, helping in the kitchen, the kitchen was where Lokirath developed his aptitude for hiding and lying in wait, the head-cook was a fierce drunk who liked to beat Lokirath when he'd finished his bottle so Lokirath would hide anywhere and everywhere occasionally stealthily and swiftly moving into shadows to avoid a beating until the cook passed out. When he got older and they went on slave raids Lokirath would scout out the areas and break the locks allowing the Corsairs to take twice the amount of slaves they would normally. Lokirath would always pocket extra plunder the Corsairs missed, even then he had the hall-marks of a thief, he was a secretive and introspective child though often  
he'd stand on the decks of the ship staring out into the distance, the Corsairs tolerated him but they didn't like him; to them he still stank of an Asur. Lokhir Fellheart however didn't mind, the infamous, merciless slaver hidden behind the Kraken helm didn't care that Lokirath's mother was one of the hated High Elves he taught him how to fight. Whenever there was a free moment he would take the young Druchii and teach him the art of duel-wielding and the techniques used by him and the Corsairs. Lokirath would practice his fighting everyday determined to prove everyone wrong who thought him a weak, Asur-Druchii runt. Eventually he started to adapt the techniques and moves to suit his own movements and situation driven by his intense hatred. Lokirath hated the High Elves more than most Druchii as it was High Elf blood that had tainted his being and during the raids the child would slay the Asur in the most gruesome ways, ways that disturbed even the Corsairs and Fellheart. Once when Lokirath was 7 they were in the Sea of Chaos battling an Asur Hawkship one of the Asur who'd boarded the ship had thought Lokirath was a slave and took him aboard the Hawkship thinking he'd rescued him. From inside the ship Lokirath killed as many of the Asur as he could. He was not as skilled as he now was and due to his small size he had to debilitate them by severing the ligaments in their legs before decapitating, disembowelling, stabbing or slitting the throats of his victims. By the time the Corsairs had found Lokirath he was drenched in blood with the bodies and entrails of the Asur he'd killed surrounding him. His hands were trembling from the adrenaline rush. Once the raids were complete and the slaves packed into the pens Lokirath would torment them day and night, with each lashing of the whip more hatred filled him.

These memories made Lokirath feel warm inside he remembered everything from the screams of the slaves to the taste of the blood that splattered from their broken skin to the Slave Master chuckling at his 'enthusiasm'. He still wondered over whether Malgrim Slaveflayer or Lokhir Fellheart was his father, it was a question that haunted him, Lokhir was definitely more paternal in his actions and his name did mimic Fellheart's, either way it was a question that he knew would never be answered.

Eventually when Lokirath was about 14 or so Malgrim started leaving him at home to fend for himself while he went off to sea. Being left with no money Lokirath turned to pickpocketing, street hustling and cutting purses at the slave markets. Karond Kar being the largest slave port was always full of potential buyers with new pockets to pick. This was where he honed his skill as a thief he was caught a few times but his speed and agility as well as his cunning and skill for hiding got him out of trouble. It was on one of these escapes that he met Ravenna Witchsmith his childhood friend and the youngest of the Witchsmith children to be alive. Ravenna was running to deliver a sword, shield and some commissioned punch knives to a Dreadlord, she'd learned from the deaths of her younger brother and older sister that you had to be fast on your feet when making deliveries. At the same time Lokirath had just been caught picking the pocket of a slave trader and now had a bunch of hired swords charging after him. Ravenna and Lokirath literally bumped into each other, Lokirath hid in an alley blending into the shadows as Ravenna hurriedly tried to gather her deliveries together before she fell prey to thieves or worse when the mercenaries came and asked which way Lokirath had gone. Lokirath felt chilled to the bone but to his amazement she told them he'd gone up a side-street that was in completely the opposite direction to where he was hiding. From that day on they had been firm friends.

"Lokirath!" the loud thundering voice of Nelaros snapped Lokirath from his memories. Nelaros was a huge man – not huge by human standards or compared to an orc – but he was extremely muscular for an elf his raven black hair was tied in a loose bun and his face was red and sweaty from the heat of the forge and he was covered in coal he wiped his hands on his trousers and patted Lokirath on the shoulder. "I take it you're here for your payment" he said happily. Lokirath turned to a bulging leather pouch he had attached to his belt, loosened the strap and pulled out a mass of black hair and with it a severed head still dripping with blood.

"As you requested" Lokirath smiled handing the head to Nelaros. The smith laughed heartily.

"Hahaha that'll teach this bastard for demanding a refund! Morria, go hang this outside the shop so everyone can see" he said to his wife behind the counter.

"Of course I think this would look marvellous on one of the display pikes" she said as Nelaros handed her the head. Nelaros turned back to Lokirath.

"Did you get the other things I asked for?" he asked. Lokirath swung a large sack over his shoulder and placed it on the table. Nelaros took out a sword and shield and he rubbed his big chin looking at the shield. "I don't know how I'm gonna get rid of this heraldry, maybe I could cover it with spikes and stick it in the discount pile, no perhaps I could cover it with a skull crest, hmmm" he said thinking allowed. Lokirath leaned back against the wall - Nelaros always did this - he drew his beloved blades Backstabber and Throatslitter. Backstabber was a serrated stiletto dagger with a skull shaped pommel and blood red material and black leather wrapped around the grip, the cross guard was typical of a Druchii blade with the exception of in the centre of the cross guard there was another skull with small red gems in its eye sockets and on each side there was a rune to a particular God on the right was Loec, the Shadow Dancer and on the left was Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God. Backstabber and Throatslitter were enchanted blades Ravenna was an accomplished sorceress and enchanted weapons and armour for the family along with her sister, she enchanted Lokirath's weapons to drink the blood of who they killed so whenever Backstabber and Throatslitter killed the victims blood would hone the blades to perfection, Backstabber's blade was always sharpened after it had been sunk into someone's spine and the blood shined the blade to perfection the blade was also enchanted to be permanently poisoned with Manbane the slightest wound was enough to kill, not that Lokirath didn't coat his blade in extra poisons for good measure. He put Backstabber back in its scabbard a beautiful piece lined with blood red silk and gold and silver adornments. Lokirath then turned his attention to Throatslitter, his favourite weapon. Throatslitter was a stunning, dark, Druchii dagger made of meteoric iron and obsidian that shinned like a slice of midnight the runes of Loec, Khaine, Ereth Khial, the Pale Queen and Eldrazor, Lord of Blades were etched into the dark obsidian blade itself and constantly glowing with a deep purple luminescence, the pommel of the blade was shaped like the head of a black dragon with large twisted horns and a large deep purple amethyst locked in its jaws the cross guard was fashioned to look like the spread wings of a black dragon with tremendous detail, the grip was made of purple Sea Dragon hide and like Backstabber it was honed and shined with each kill but there was more to Throatslitter than that, it coated itself with the Dark Venom and Black Lotus poisons driving the target insane before killing them painfully Throatslitter also shared the blood it drank with Lokirath regenerating him if he was wounded and if he was ever slain the purple jewel was enchanted to explode into poisoned shards killing anyone nearby. These enchantments were so powerful they had caused Ravenna to pass out and sleep for a week; she had poured so much power into them. Lokirath sheaved Throatslitter in its purple scabbard adorned with silver and black cage-like embellishments and a dragon detail coiling around the sheathe.

Nelaros was now rummaging around under the counter he picked up a red bag and handed it to Lokirath. "For the head" he said. Lokirath weighed the bag in his hand it was more than he'd asked for but he didn't say anything, he knew if Nelaros hadn't intended to give him more than he asked he wouldn't have. To his surprise the large Druchii was still rummaging around under the counter, had it been anyone else Lokirath would've stolen their coin and run but not with Nelaros, he was the only person in Karond Kar who didn't care Lokirath was a Asur-Druchii bastard and he had a constant stream of jobs that always paid well. "Ah found it!" the large elf said with his deep, hearty voice booming throughout the storefront. "I just finished making this, it's not enchanted but it's a prototype – no other like it" he said carrying a large bundle wrapped in manticore hide. He slowly moved the pieces of leather and inside was a stunning cross bow, black with silver plates and intricate designs of snakes coiling through skulls and twisted, spiked blade-like flourishes edged with silver detailed the stock, barrel and bow of the crossbow. Lokirath looked at it and raised an eyebrow.

"It is beautiful Nelaros but it doesn't look much different from the other repeater crossbows" said Lokirath but Nelaros just smiled

"Pick it up" he said his filled down teeth showed in a twisted smile. Lokirath picked up the crossbow and it was lighter than anything he'd ever held, so easy to manoeuvre he looked at Nelaros to ask why it was so light but the large Elf wore an expression that said '_my little secret'_.

"What's the capacity?" asked Lokirath

"Five, should be more than enough for you"

"Easily" said Lokirath aiming at the bull's-eye at the other end of the store he pulled the trigger and a bolt shot out with amazing force but hardly any recoil and hit the centre of the bull's-eye. Lokirath walked up to the target and tried to pull the bolt out but it was buried deep he tugged and wriggled the bolt loose until it finally gave way. "It's a bit loud but the speed and power make up for it" said Lokirath

"Yes that's the one thing I can't seem to get rid of" nodded Nelaros.

"I'll need to buy a quiver, some bolts and a shoulder strap" said Lokirath making his way over to the counter.

"Anything commissioned?" asked Nelaros opening his order book and dipping his quill in ink.

"I want them to go with the armour I'm saving for" said Lokirath pointing to a beautiful black and purple set of light armour. "Don't bother making the quiver too elaborate though, I don't want some huge gem to give away my position" then Lokirath started to ramble about what he wanted each item to look like, going into great detail. Nelaros ignored some of young assassin's statements but made little notes in the book on others.

"Alright then, should be ready in about a fortnight" said Nelaros. "The usual fee" he said holding out his large palm. Lokirath opened the pouch of money he'd just received and counted out the coins needed and by the time he'd finished more than half of his money was gone. Nelaros chuckled. "Don't look so glum your Father will be back soon with plenty of gold" said the smith

"Any money Malgrim gets from the plunder will go on whores, booze and Nauglir fights" said Lokirath admiring the new armours; the young elf was constantly moving gracefully as if dancing to unheard music, even when standing still he seemed to be dancing.

"Speaking of money, you're still looking for work, right?"

"Yes" said Lokirath with intrigue in his voice

"Say if some of my customers were looking for a little 'hired help' would you want me to recommend you in exchange for a cut of the reward?"

"How much of a cut?" asked Lokirath raising an eyebrow and looking untrustingly at Nelaros

"50/50" said Nelaros

"10%" replied Lokirath smugly enjoying haggling with Nelaros

"45%"

"15%"

"35% and that's my final offer" said Nelaros firmly

"20% is as high as I'm going and even then it's only because it's you Nelaros" the young assassin narrowed his violet eyes and the two stared at each other for a while. "I'll leave you to think it over" Lokirath finally said pulling up the hood of his battered old cloak and heading towards the door. As he exited the shop he noticed that the brief interval in Karond Kar's rains had ended and the icy wind had returned bringing with it a downpour of rain and icy hail. Lokirath could feel the cold wind burn his skin and the rain seep through his already beaten and worn cloak he shuddered slightly as he headed back to his home pelted with the hail and slowly soaking from the rain.


	2. Life in Karond Kar

Lokirath opened the door to his house. Though it was in the commoner's part of Karond Kar near the docks it wasn't a hovel. It was a large house, the type that the slave traders would buy except Lokirath's home lacked the pointless grandiose and opulence which the slave traders tossed around their homes. The only decadent features in his home were the architecture, the gothic windows had iron webbing over the glass and there was a large black fireplace adorned with dragons tearing apart slaves and crows picking at the carrion and bones and the stairs and banisters were made from the bones of dead slaves, each with gruesome murals carved into them depicting death, pain and suffering of all kinds varying from battles to monsters feasting on the dead. Lokirath opened the heavy reinforced door and stepped into his home. A male human slave, Thing had walked in carrying logs for the fire. "Good evening, young Master" he said in a high pitched voice putting the logs down by the newly lit fire and bowing. Thing was older then Lokirath, who had only just seen his twentieth winter and was still considered a child too many elves, Thing was in his early thirties a muscular human with long chestnut brown hair. Thing's strange voice was from the fact he was castrated. When Malgrim had first purchased Thing he wasn't even a adolescent, he was born into slavery so he knew what to do and what not to do but he made the mistake of eyeing one of Malgrim's lovers. As punishment Malgrim had forced Thing to watch as a Nauglir bit and tore off his testes eating them in front of him and never crossed Malgrim again. Thing still had nightmares about this event but he had been a loyal slave with Lokirath in charge of him to the point where he would advise about new slaves and help break them. Lokirath's punishments were far more reasonable, he'd lock slaves outside naked in the freezing cold or whip them with a chain whip mostly he'd use extreme sensory deprivation by locking the slave in a small cubby hole in the basement, he named 'The Box' it was dark, quiet and cramped and Lokirath would leave the slaves alone for days until they had almost lost their sanity. Unlike Malgrim, Lokirath was far less brutal favouring psychological torture over physical to the point where he made it look like an art-form.

Lokirath hung up his battered old cloak and walked over to Thing. "Put this in my room" he said handing Thing his new crossbow.

"Yes, Sir. Oh and I think the new slave has been broken but I haven't let her out of the box yet" said Thing. Lokirath sat in an armchair made of blackened bones and lined with red velvet upholstery that was dyed from blood. He watched the fire dance as he warmed himself.

"Put my new crossbow on the rack then we shall see if she is broken" he ordered coldly. Thing nodded and headed upstairs. Even as Lokirath sat in the chair his feet were tapping and so were his fingers, still dancing to the tune only he could hear. Lokirath felt better with the fire warming him after the harsh rain and hail. He let out a long yawn and heard Thing's footsteps coming down the stairs he stood up and headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm and Lokirath was pleased to see it was clean except for a bucket of bones and the inedible parts of what looked like the remains of a boar. Lokirath raised an eyebrow and his violet eyes darted to Thing. "I'm going to boil those to make stock Master" he said, instinctively holding up his hands in a defensive posture. Dried herbs and other culinary ingredients hung above the hearth were there was a pot with stew bubbling gently. Thing skittered over to the large cellar door in the floor and opened it for Lokirath. The beautiful elven youth descended the stairs gracefully and lit the oil lamp hanging on the cellar walls. The cellar seemed colder than the rain and icy wind outside, large kegs of mead or ale and crates of wine lined the stone walls. Thing followed Lokirath down and the two walked over to a wooden door that was heavily bolted. There was no sound coming from inside Lokirath thought for a moment then gestured to Thing to open the door. Thing obeyed and slowly opened the door, it was covered in blood and scratches from where the slave had been clawing in an attempt to escape. There was movement in the shadows of the cubby hole and eventually Lokirath saw the shape of Wood Elf girl shielding her eyes, even the dim lamp light was too bright for her, she lay in a pool of her own blood and excrement some of her finger nails were missing from clawing at the door. "Get her cleaned up and bring her to me" Lokirath ordered coldly, wrinkling his nose at the stench and headed upstairs.

Thing bandaged the girl, washed her, dressed her and gave her a goblet of a herbal tea that was made to fight off infection and had a very potent, sweet, sickly smell like rotting fruit. As she sipped the brew Thing explained how things worked and Lokirath was in charge he walked over to the stew, picking up a large wooden spoon he gave it a stir and then tasted a bit. The wood elf looked up from her tea which didn't taste as horrible as it smelt but was still unpleasant to drink she saw thing add pepper to the stew. "The young Master likes his food to have a bit of kick to it" Thing said. "Now get me a bowl from the cupboard next to you" he ordered. The girl got up and rummaged until she found a black and silver bowl and brought it over to the large pot. Thing ladled the stew into the bowl until it was full. "Good now find the dish that goes with this bowl while I carve some bread" Thing ordered. The wood elf girl was fast she managed to find the dishes and find the mead for Lokirath. Thing had her escort him to give the young Druchii his dinner they walked into the living room to see Lokirath asleep in the armchair made of blackened bone in front of the fire a leather bound book on Elven politics was on his lap, his sleeping form was the only time his body was still. Thing gestured to the Asrai girl to stay still he slowly approached the sleeping assassin as Thing reached out his arm to wake his Master he found Throatslitter's cold blade pressing against his throat. Lokirath slowly opened his eyes and looked at Thing after a moment of silence he sheathed his beloved dagger and shut his book. Thing swallowed and struggled with his words but Lokirath knew what he was trying to say. "Take it through to the dining room" he said simply standing up and stretching. Thing walked off and the Asrai turned to follow him. "Not you" snapped Lokirath and the new slave froze. Lokirath approached her. "You know who I am?" he asked

"You are my Master now" said the Asrai trembling at Lokirath's wicked smile yet mesmerized by his beautiful violet eyes.

"That's right, whatever life you had is long gone and you'd best forget it now, unless you wish to return to the box" a look of horror washed over the girl's face and Lokirath could see she would do anything to not be put back in there. "Your name is now Creature, remember it" he said sinisterly taking the drinking horn from the Asrai girl. "Go back to the kitchen and finish your medicine" Lokirath ordered and the girl scuttled off. Lokirath smiled pleasured by her fear and walked to the dining room. Thing had set the table and bowed to his Master, Lokirath sat at the table and ordered Thing to taste his food, a simple precaution that Lokirath had been using since he first started living at home instead of on the black ark, poison was easier to come by on land then on the black arks and due to his Asur-blood there were no shortage of Druchii that wanted him dead. Once Lokirath was satisfied that his food was not poisoned he dismissed the slave and started to eat.

After Lokirath had finished his food he had a hot bath and went to his bedroom, his sanctuary when his father was home. It was a nice room, not lavish and luxurious like Malgrim's but comfortable and warm the furniture was fairly opulent with sea dragons and the monsters of the boiling sea carved into them, the lamps were made of the bones of dead slaves and paintings of strange ghostly landscapes hung on the walls, places in Naggorath that Lokirath hoped to visit or had sailed past when he lived on the _Tower of Blessed Dread_. Lokirath walked to the far corner of his room where there was a small shrine to Loec, the Shadow Dancer. He picked up a bottle of wine and poured some into an offering goblet and lit a black candle he then sat down in the lotus position and began to pray.

Lokirath danced in the shadows to an unknown tune that was being hummed - a haunting, sorrowful sound that emanated from an unknown woman. He could see her in the dim light he danced in but he was too far away to see who or what she was. She kept humming obviously oblivious to him and he kept dancing, while the shadows danced around him occasionally taking him as their partner and dancing with Lokirath, like ghosts with no identity. The woman still stood in the spotlight dressed in rags, her beautiful cascade of thick golden hair shimmering in the light but her face hidden from Lokirath's sight. As he danced with the shadows who took him as their partner she seemed to drift further away, her sorrowful humming beckoning to him in the darkness. Lokirath was curious now and dancing from ghostly partner to partner he followed her wanting to know who she was. He got closer to her; she was an elf with a petite frame and carrying something in her arms. Curiosity got the better of Lokirath and he chased after the woman, the shadows danced around him, grabbing him, hindering him until he fought through them and reached for the woman. She turned slowly and just as Lokirath was going to see who she was…..

His eyes snapped open and he found himself sitting in bed in a cold sweat. He was panting and trembling and his head hurt. "Bloody night terrors" he said to himself getting out of bed. He tried to remember the dream but it had completely gone. As he poured some water into a basin he pondered his night terrors, they weren't unusual for him he'd suffered them for as long as he could remember. He remembered once asking Ravenna's older sister, a supreme sorceress in the Dark Convent, when she returned to Karond Kar to 'visit' her family – in other words to see if her sister was skilled enough for the Dark Convent – she told him that they were either the visualisations of his inner conflict with his Asur blood or fragments of repressed memory. Lokirath dabbed himself clean with a cloth and returned to bed covering himself with his thick duvet lined with wolf fur and pulling it close to him as he closed his eyes.

The next time Lokirath opened his eyes it was light outside, or at least as light as Karond Kar got. The young, beautiful elf stretched and got out of bed. Lokirath washed his face in the basin pushing his fringe back revealing a small brand on his forehead, no bigger than a thumbnail and usually hidden by his fringe, the Druhir rune meaning 'Asur' this brand was the first thing he received when he first set foot on dry land, a mark of shame and brand to always remind him of his place in Druchii society, he must have been about five years old. Malgrim had brought him to the Temple of Khaine before they went back out to sea. Lokirath didn't remember much of the ritual that placed the rune on his forehead but he remembered the insane laughing of the beautiful and horrifying Witch Elves as they carved it into his flesh slowly with a blade that was coated in some acidic poison that burnt away the skin, the agony was so great he screamed throughout but didn't shed a tear, when they had finished 'marking' him the Witch Elves held Lokirath's head down in a cauldron of blood Lokirath wasn't sure how long they held him within that cauldron, he passed out. When he awoke Malgrim told him the Witch Elves had said that since he had not drowned the gods favoured him and had left their mark but since he wasn't a true Druchii they didn't want him for the Khainite Assassin. Lokirath wasn't sure whether this was true but ever since that day his eyes were an otherworldly bright purple, like that of an Iris flower and the rune on his forehead, even though it had healed was still as blood red as when it was fresh and whenever he killed it would glow red showing through his obsidian black fringe that he tried to hide it with.

The young assassin dressed himself and went downstairs. Creature, the new Asrai slave brought him through a bowl of porridge Lokirath raised an eyebrow at the dish. "What is this?" he asked with a demanding tone.

"It is porridge, Master" answered Creature shakily as she nervously played with her honey coloured hair.

"I mean what is in it?" snarled Lokirath glaring

"Oats and milk mostly" spluttered Creature terrified of her Master's vicious glare. "Then I added some honey and a berry compote" she said. Lokirath looked at her trembling and took a spoonful and held it out to her

"Eat it" he ordered and Creature obeyed without hesitation. Lokirath observed her for a while, until he was sure of no poison then tried some of what Creature had cooked. It was delicious, sweet and warm Lokirath felt himself smile as he ate and Creature finally relaxed. He wolfed down the dish and nodded approvingly at Creature whose face lit up happily. "Good girl" said Lokirath getting up from his chair. "Now I must be going to work, I will be back this evening" he said

"Yes Master" said Creature as Lokirath picked his worn cloak off the hook by the door and left.

* * *

The Slave Markets of Karond Kar were filled to bursting Lokirath watched the crowds, carefully looking for marks there were fellow slavers, corsairs and agents from potential buyers wondering around. Lokirath's stunning purple eyes followed them watching the way they walked, how they held themselves and most importantly where they kept their wallet. This wasn't the easiest crowd certainly and Lokirath wanted to stay clear of the corsairs in case he ran into them later at _The Kraken's Maw_, a pub where he would pick up a few contracts and if there were none to be had he'd hustle a few games of chance. Lokirath looked up to the sky and saw a group of Harpies screeching triumphantly as they returned to their roost, he smiled to himself, this was a good omen to Druchii. The Slave Master got up to the podium she had a fairly athletic build with her black hair tied in a high pony tail she had black war paint on her pale elven skin in the shape of a skull to intimidate the slaves. The first slave on auction was brought out and the shouting began. Lokirath slinked into the crowd occasionally bidding on the slaves to blend in, all the while he held a small blade in the palm of his left hand, easily hidden, his eyes danced to all the potential marks until he fixed on one. He moved the blade in his hand manoeuvring it into a practical position so he could cut cleanly and swiftly. The next slave was a young Bretonnian maiden, fairly attractive for a human even with all the bruises and cuts from her beatings which provided a useful distraction for Lokirath, females were always more popular especially for owners of the pleasure dens. He neared his mark who was bidding on her and while the Druchii was shouting bids along with the other bidders Lokirath dexterously cut off the marks purse and before anyone was the wiser moved on. Lokirath made larceny look like a dance - one cut purse, two picked pockets - all the while having to stay on the move but not draw attention to himself. Lokirath had lightened the pockets of many marks by the end of the auction and not been spotted by the Slave Master's assassins that prowled the crowds in case anyone thought the price was 'unfair'. Lokirath moved from the finishing auction to the one that was just about to start. He shivered slightly at the icy wind and cursed his beaten old cloak for not keeping him warm.

Lokirath danced from mark to mark cutting purses and picking pockets amidst the crowds of shouting Druchii bidding on the slaves the Harpies he'd seen hadn't lied he had been lucky today he managed to remain unseen for most of the auction preying from the shadows but when he delved into the sea of elves his graceful movements where so swift and light everyone assumed he was just wading through the crowds blissfully unaware their purses had been taken by the lithe figure. Lokirath continued this cycle until the late afternoon when the slave markets were shutting. He left swiftly and returned home, his take today was starting to weigh him down and he needed to be swift in his line of work. He got home and went up to his room to count his takings, he emptied all the wallets, purses and took out all the loose coins he'd lifted and a smile crossed Lokirath's face as he saw the size of the large pile of gold coins grow in size on his floor he suddenly started laughing at his hoard, a manic wicked laugh escaped him and he reached under his bed and pulled out a large chest he pulled a dragon shaped amulet he always wore but couldn't remember where he got it and unfolded it gently and methodically revealing it to be a key of sorts, a skeleton key he unlocked his chest and put most of the money in it. Closing his stash and locking it again before twisting his amulet back to its normal dragon shape Lokirath put the remaining money in his own purse and swiftly left his home heading down the dark streets towards the tavern.

Corsairs were gathered outside _The Kraken's Maw _drinking and fondling some of the whores. Lokirath slinked by and entered the tavern. The smell of booze and sea salt wafted inside the place, drunken chatter filled the air and every so often a fight would almost start. Slave girls danced on a stage while Corsairs leered at them, they were drugged and smiled dreamily as they performed, some giggled as they groped and caressed each other stroking their most intimate of places during their trip. Lokirath couldn't help feeling aroused at the show and quickly sat down at the bar blushing, he was still a virgin and had very little experience with women, not that he didn't have the chance he just cared more about his survival than sex. The barkeep came up to him, a retired Corsair with a black eye patch and beautiful tattoos of hydras, sea dragons and naked mermaids running down his arms he glared at Lokirath but the young assassin smiled in reply which brought a sneer to the barkeep's face he took the dagger at his side and plunged it down at Lokirath's hand. The young assassin swiftly split his fingers causing the dagger to miss them and bury itself deep in the wooden bar, he remained calm and smiling and laughed softly. "A bottle of cider" he said calmly.

"Well at least your willing to spend money today, you scunner" growled the barkeep handing Lokirath a bottle and opener. Lokirath opened the bottle sniffed its contents, checked the neck of the bottle and observed the colour and consistency and tasted a tiny amount. "I ain't poisoned it you little bastard now hand over what I'm owed" the barkeep growled clenching his fist. The young assassin handed over some coins and smiled.

"Need any help?" he asked

"Yeah, I got a few contracts that could be right up your alley" said the barkeep

"So how much?"

"50 silver each for the smaller contracts and 50 gold for the big one". Lokirath almost choked on his drink.

"Are you taking the piss?" he asked

"This kinda contract makes a man and it's got a high reward"

"It better do" snarled Lokirath handing over the money for all the contracts. The barkeep handed them to the young assassin, each was a parchment carefully folded and sealed to keep anyone from seeing its contents. Lokirath's eyes widened at the signet on the most expensive of the contracts, the seal of Taurnil Cruelfire, a powerful Dreadlord of Karond Kar.


End file.
